


Be my Ragweed

by VirtualCarrot (Kaoro)



Series: Teen Wolf tumblr ficlets [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoro/pseuds/VirtualCarrot
Summary: “It’s not as if I was hoping for a sudden declaration of undying love,” Stiles said in the tone of one who had been very much expecting it, thanks, because he was ridiculously romantic for all that he was also cynical.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Teen Wolf tumblr ficlets [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643803
Comments: 2
Kudos: 93





	Be my Ragweed

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted here https://virtualcarrot.tumblr.com/post/43113072745/be-my-ragweed-sadly-not-beta-read-i with companion fanart piece

“I don't _care,_ Stiles,” Derek shouted, cutting across a muddy path of the woods in the hopes that would dissuade Stiles from following after him.

The teen absently lengthened his strides, a bit breathless, and still somehow found it in him to voice his grievance.

“I don’t care that you don’t care. I want to complain and no one else is available.”

“And who says I am?”

“Your aimless ways and empty hands,” Stiles retorted, gesturing towards his companion before hastily drawing his arms back to regain his balance when he slipped in the mud. The close fall did not deter him: “Speaking of which, my locker was empty this morning. And at lunch. And in the afternoon. Nothing. From anyone. I don’t feel the love.”

Derek sneered. “Probably because there isn’t any for you to feel.”

From the furrowing of Stiles’ brows, the kid seemed unsure whether to take his comment as a joke or as an insult.

Torn between amusement and hurt, he settled for a glare. “Careful Derek, your bitterness is showing.”

“And yours isn’t?”

Stiles shrugged. “Look, it’s not as if I was hoping for a sudden declaration of undying love,” he said in the tone of one who had been very much expecting it, thanks, because Stiles was ridiculously romantic for all that he was also cynical. “It’s just— Look, we’ve been through stuff. All of us. Together. We’re friends. Buddies, _compadres_ , marauders. ‘Pack’, _whatever,"_ he added at Derek’s pointed look. "My point is, I didn’t even get a bro’ valentine, and it sucks, and if I want to complain about it, I have every right.”

“Yes, but not to me!” Derek hissed. “Go bemoan your fate _away_. Hopefully in your room. Locked in. Talk at your wall for all I care.”

“The wall can’t hear me.”

“Because you think I’m listening?! You can’t be dumb enough as to expect commiseration.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at him. “Of course not. I’d have gone to Scott otherwise. But Scott would have felt guilty, and that sucks.”

Derek stopped walking and crossed his arms, leveling a stern look at him. “So you’re trying to make _me_ feel guilty instead?”

The kid stared back with an expression of exasperation so far from fond it was a little insulting.

“The whole point of talking to you is that you won’t.” Stiles explained with an impatient sigh, looking skywards as if seeking strength.

“I… won’t?” Derek asked, puzzled.

“Well, no?” Stiles replied, unsure himself all of a sudden. He scratched his forehead. “Because you, er, ‘don’t care’?” At the way Derek’s face darkened, he carried on hastily. “But that’s the whole point, I’m telling you, I don’t mind actually, because that way you’re not wary of hurting my feelings or anything. You’ll just… be a douche. As usual.”

Derek tightened his crossed arms.

“Because I _don’t care_ ,” he uttered through gritted teeth.

“Yes?” Stiles replied in the alarmed voice of someone who did not assess the situation correctly and who can feel it getting out of control for no fathomable reason.

Derek’s sleeves were straining against his bulging arms which would have been quite a sight weren’t Stiles so busy trying to make heads or tails of the situation.

They shared a look then Derek said: “Your feelings _are_ hurt,” like it meant _something_.

Stiles waved his arms around, mouthing unfinished questions he found himself unable to formulate. “I — just — what?!”

He flailed for a few awkward seconds under Derek’s unwavering gaze until the man sighed. And walked away.

Too stunned to follow him, Stiles raised his palms and schooled his features into a questioning expression aimed at no one in particular, looking around as if expecting someone, anyone, to jump out of the underbrush and _explain._

He startled when he straightened up and found himself face to face with Derek. Who held out a — a plant? — a plant indeed, freshly torn out of the ground, its roots swaying in the breeze. Stiles stared.

“What is that?” he asked at last, leaning over Derek’s closed fist to get a better look at his newfound possession.

Nonplussed by the question, Derek looked down at the plant too.

“I think it’s ragweed,” he said with a look of concentration. Then he shrugged and held out his hand again. “Here.”

“Dude, what am I supposed to do with it?”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek snapped, losing patience.

Stiles complied hurriedly, carefully turning the plant whichever way to inspect it. Derek nodded, satisfied.

“There. Now stop complaining.”

The kid froze. Blinked. “Stop comp — Oh my God.”

Derek looked horrified, sensing an incoming monologue. He raised a finger menacingly. “Don’t.”

Stiles pushed his hand away with a smirk that tried and failed not to become too genuine.

“Oh my God you gave me a valentine flower,” he cackled.

“It’s a ragweed,” Derek sneered.

“It’s a _gift_.”

“It’s a bad weed. Annoying. Grows everywhere like couch grass. You can’t get rid of it no matter how much you try and however much you avoid it you’ll still find it lying around. Even then it still shows up where you least expect it. I thought it was fitting.”

Stiles bit his lips in amusement. “Yes. Of our love,” he blurted out before howling in a laughter that wasn’t far from manic.

“I bring these things on myself…” Derek groaned, half-heartedly shoving at Stiles’ head as he walked past him. The kid ducked, his shoulders shaking. 

“What, no goodbye kiss?” he called, watching Derek’s back grow more distant with each step.

Derek rolled his eyes to himself and bit his lip to keep from smiling. “Go _home,_ Stiles!” he yelled instead.

“Whatever man, I know you love me,” Stiles called back before turning away, cradling the ragweed gingerly on his way back to the jeep.


End file.
